Destined to Fall
by leapylion3
Summary: A series of Robb/Roslin drabbles. Will be in different universes, timelines, etc...so in general, AU!
1. 1: Dance Your Troubles Away

In which Robb and Roslin get married to allow his crossing.

* * *

Robb agreed to marry one of Lord Walder Frey's daughters in order to cross.

The wedding is a simple affair, held in the godswood. Only a handful of people are present; Robb's mother, his war council, Lord Walder and his new wife.

His betrothed is named Roslin, she has brown hair and brown eyes, she plays the harp, she likes to dance, and that is all Robb knows of her.

She's a small thing, the top of her head only reaching his shoulders. She looks pretty in her dress, though it is nothing too fancy; they hadn't had enough time to make this an extravagant event.

She puts her dainty hands in his and whispers the vows, trembling in his grasp. He offers her a reassuring smile, but he is just as nervous. He is just somehow more capable of hiding it.

He kisses her, and she kisses back, coy with her movements. Polite clapping and murmured offerings of congratulations echo throughout the godswood. Obligatory nothings, Robb knows, since no one is truly happy about their marriage.

Robb and Roslin don't talk to each other at the feast. He tries to start a conversation with her- several times, in fact-, but he knows next to nothing about her. _Roslin,_ _brown hair, brown eyes, harp, dancing…_

He stands up and holds out his hand for her. He asks her to dance.

She says yes.

* * *

I've been wanting to do something Robb/Roslin related. There's such a lack of them on here omg. Anywhere, actually.

I'll aim to get one a day out! Thanks!


	2. 2: Weep for Me

In which Robb goes off to fight in World War II.

* * *

Roslin dashes through the crowd, pushing and shoving past people. They all shout at her, but she doesn't care. She has to see him, or else she may never get a chance to again.

Exasperated, she steps out of her heels, since they were making her trip every couple of steps. Now unrestrained, she manages to pick up her speed and she sprints through the packed airport. She holds onto her hat, which came very close to falling off several times.

"Robb!" she cries out when she spots him. He's caught in the middle of the swarm of people, about to board his plane to France. "_Robb_!" she calls again, this time much louder. He turns at the sound of her voice and catches her eye. A slow grin spreads on his handsome face, and she can't help but laugh out loud.

She pushes past the rest of the people, and he sets his bag down, waiting for her. After what seems like an eternity, she reaches him and he instantly takes her in his arms. She clutches onto his jacket and has no intent of letting go. "I couldn't let you go without saying goodbye," she breathes, her heart beating loudly in her ears.

"Then what was last night?" he teases, pressing a kiss to her hair. She blushes at the memory, remembering last night's escapades and activities. "I'm gonna miss you, Rosie," he murmurs against her temple, all amusement gone from his face and voice.

"Promise me you'll come back," she orders sternly, moving away from the crook of his neck to look into her eyes. "Promise me that, Robb Stark."

His cheek twitches and he shies away from her gaze. He interlaces his fingers with hers and stares at their joined hands. "Will you weep for me?"

"I won't have to," she whispers, her eyes welling up with tears. Robb leans in and kisses her passionately, his arms wrapping around her waist and bringing her closer. His beard scratches against her cheeks and chin, but she doesn't mind. She never minds.

"Wait for me."

"Of course."

He kisses her again. "I love you, Roslin Frey." And then he's off.


	3. 3: Advice from Aegon

In which Aegon gives Robb some insight.

Part 2 in the World War II collection.

* * *

Robb's bunkmate is a young chap named Aegon, around his own age, who constantly insists on being called Griff. Robb doesn't mind that- not in the slightest, since Aegon has the best cigarettes in their troop, and he's more than willing to share. Calling him Griff is a small token of gratitude that Robb doesn't mind giving.

Stark lies in his bed one night, and sleep can't seem to find him. Aegon is probably asleep, so any chance of a cig is highly unlikely. He _could_ sneak one out of Griff's bag, but he doesn't find that fair at all. Instead, he gets up out of bed and pours himself a glass of whiskey, which is watered down so much he can barely _call_ it whiskey.

He shuffles around, trying to keep quiet. He doesn't want to wake his bunkmate- not after what happened last time. Aegon may be one of the nicest people Robb's ever met, but he's learned to never take sleep away from him. Griff can be real nasty when he wants to be.

Robb wanders aimlessly around the small room, glass of whiskey in one hand, the other jammed in his pocket. He feels something in there and, curious, fumbles around to get it.  
He pulls out a small picture, the edges folded and creased, even a bit dirty. He smiles fondly and turns it over in his hand, seeing the note she wrote on the back of it. _Eiffel Tower, 1938. Amazing time! I love you, Robb Stark. _It's been such a long time since he's seen her, and he wishes he could stop time and go visit her, if only for a day.

He hears grumbling and quiet mutterings, and turns around to the source of the noise. His bunkmate is slowly swinging himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes and scowling. "Bloody hell, they couldn't afford to get us better beds?" Griff stands up and takes Robb's whiskey out of his hand, downing it in one shot. "Fuck, I'm getting sick of this watered down shit."

"That makes two of us."

Aegon squints and examines the picture in Robb's hand. "She your sweetheart? The one you always talk about?"

"Roslin, yeah. That's her."

Robb expects Griff to go off on a rant about how he shouldn't be thinking about girls at a time like this, because it's _war_, dammit, and war is a time of _men_. But his bunkmate only smiles and claps him on the shoulder. "She's a pretty thing. Don't go breaking her heart, Robb Stark."


	4. 4: A Little Fall of Rain

In which Robb returns home from the war.

* * *

Roslin hops off the train and hoists her purse higher onto her shoulder. Her steps are brisk, her heels clicking and echoing loudly on the pavement as she pushes her way out of the train station. She had never liked taking the train; the stations were always much too crowded, and she felt suffocated in the small cars. But she had never taken the time to learn how to drive, so riding the train it was.

Her apartment is only a five minute walk from the station, which is especially advantageous today, since the sky is gray, threatening them with a promise of a storm. Roslin doesn't have her umbrella today, but she figures she should have enough time to make it to her flat. Anyway, a little rain can't hurt her.

She turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. The smell of Robb's cologne hangs heavy in the air, along with the scent of his favourite cigarette brand, making her suspicious. He's been in France for the past year, fighting in the war.

She notices a bouquet of roses on the couch. White and red; her favourites. With hesitant steps, she makes her way to the couch and picks up the bouquet. She pulls out the small note buried amongst the flowers, and sees Robb's familiar handwriting. Her heart stops in her chest as her eyes scan the messy scrawl; _go to the roof. There's a surprise for you_.

Still clutching the bouquet to her chest, she dashes to the stairwell, not even bothering to lock the door to her flat. She sprints up the stairs, and the closer she gets to the rooftop's door, the more she can hear thunder and rain. With trembling hands, she fumbles with the doorknob and swings the door open.

Roslin drops the bouquet and is oblivious to the rain pouring down on her. "I know I should have called first," he says, shrugging, "but this is romantic, isn't it?" He grins cheekily, his hands thrust into his pockets. A pathway made out of rose petals leads directly to him, and the rain seems unable to wash it away. "I know the rain is ruining it, but-"

"No." She shakes her head, damp strands of her hair flying in all directions. "It's perfect. All of it. _You_." A thousand thoughts and questions are running through her mind, her head spinning. "Since when are _you _the romantic type?"

"It's a nice change, isn't it?" Robb's grin widens and he holds out his arms, beckoning her to come into his embrace. "Come on, Rosie. It's been a year."

She follows the path of rose petals, running like she's never run before.

* * *

I guess my "one a day" attempt really didn't go so well.

I'll definitely try my best to update more frequently!

xoxo


End file.
